


deserving of everything

by super_fangurl1



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, i wrote this in a day, kinda sad, sleep is for the weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 12:37:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super_fangurl1/pseuds/super_fangurl1
Summary: because of the loss of Stucky, I wrote a thing.enjoy, ig





	deserving of everything

It had been weird; the first day Bucky realized he loved Steve. It was the summer of 1934, and two foolish boys with (almost) no money sat in an un-airconditioned apartment, trying desperately not to melt. Steve was sprawled on the bland, beige cloth couch, wearing a wife-beater and skinny slacks. Bucky sat on the floor, staring at the ceiling and wondering why he hadn’t moved from New York yet. Then he looked up, saw Steve, and remembered exactly why. Steve, his best friend. Steve, this skinny kid, seventy pounds soaking wet, with a heart of gold and body of glass. Steve was why he didn’t leave; why he never could. Bucky had promised him ‘til the end of the line, and he hoped the line extended far beyond today, or frankly, ever. Bucky smiled up at the ceiling, and managed to bring himself to his feet.  
“You want ice cream, pal? I’m basically dying in here.” Bucky reached a hand to Steve, who had sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and was all but merged into the couch.  
“Ugh,” he groaned, rolling over. “That means I gotta get up.”  
“Yeah, it does. But, c’mon, ice cream is better than burning alive in here.” Bucky slipped on his shoes and grabbed the keys. “Well, you can stay here and suffer, but I am going to grab some, delicious, cold, refreshing ice cream.” Steve continued to complain but got up anyways, putting on his own shoes before grumbling over to Bucky.  
“Jerk.” he said with a sunshine smile and beautiful blonde hair and heart-aching eyes. Bucky simply laughed and replied.  
“Punk.”  
.  
.  
.  
The first time he left Steve, he tried to avoid talking about it. Bucky didn’t bring up being drafted, but he nodded politely when Steve ranted about enlisting, mumbled agreements when his mom called about updates on the U.S’s progress. He himself never intentionally brought up the war, especially around Steve, for he knew he would cave and he would tell. What made the situation worse was that Bucky hurt. He watched Steve try and try and try to enlist, he heard him cry on his side of the room because no one wanted him to help. Every day brought him closer to the being shipped out, and every day made Bucky dread telling the truth even more. He also found himself falling more for Steve every. Fucking. Day. It would be something normal, like Steve making breakfast in a old shirt, or him sketching on the couch, or him throwing his rejection papers on the kitchen counter angrily. Bucky has been convinced that he has been falling for Steve since they met. Not like he was going to tell him. The minister at the church he would (rarely) attend told him to get a wife, told him being a “fairy” was bad. Bucky didn’t believe it. C’mon, he and Steve lived together, were each others’ support system, Bucky would patch up Steve’s cuts, and Steve would try to cook them breakfast on Saturday mornings. They did all the things Bucky knew married couples did, so why was it so bad? It’s not like Bucky would ever voice these thoughts out loud, he saw what happened to people who did that. Plus, he had a reputation to uphold. “Ladies’ man”, “Suave”,”Flirtatious”, all things Bucky was known for. So, no, no asking about why homsexuality was bad. It was the smart choice. Bucky sat pondering his existence on the couch one day when Steve almost broke the door to get in.  
“When were you going to tell me you got drafted?” Steve yelled, crossing the small room to stand in front of Bucky and stare indignantly. His face was red and there seemed to be an everlasting grimace on his face. His arms crossed over his frail chest and the veins in his forehead popped.  
“Uh, it slipped my mind?” Bucky scratched the back of his neck, deciding not to look at Steve. Looking at Steve meant death. Bucky did not wish for death.  
“It ‘slipped your mind’? How are you so- What did you- Ugh!” Steve screamed, and stomped out of the living room to pace in their kitchen. “What were you thinking? You were going to hide this from me until you had to leave huh? You were just going to let me suffer here alone while you fought for our country? What was your plan, James?” And oh no Bucky was in trouble. Steve only used real name when he was extra mad, so Bucky was in for it now.  
“Steve, I didn’t want to hurt you. I know, I know that was stupid. I didn’t really have a plan. I was hoping they would win the war before I had to leave. So I didn’t have to go. I’m sorry.” Bucky walked into the kitchen and locked eyes with Steve. “I really am.” Steve deflated and punched Bucky in the arm.  
“Just… Just tell me things. Bucky, I- well, you’re important to me. I need to know this kind of stuff.” Steve crumpled into the kitchen counter, a frown instead of a grimace set into his lips.  
“I will. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to do this to you.” Bucky dropped his head and counted tiles on the floor. There was a long, heavy silence before Steve took a deep breath.  
“I know, pal. Why don’t you help me with dinner, yeah?” They began on spaghetti and decided to table emotions and tough conversations for another day; another night; another chance.  
.  
.  
.  
Bucky doesn’t remember being captured. He remembers getting pricked a few times, screaming once, and then being strapped to a table for what felt like days. Then, he remembers waking up to stormy blue eyes and sunshine hair and only one person could have been there. Only one.  
“Steve?” Steve looked like he was about to cry, he frees Bucky from his restraints, sits him up, and helps him stand.  
“I thought you were dead.” And woah, Bucky was sure he was dreaming because Steve, skinny, asthmatic, almost dead Steve, was now almost 250 pounds of pure, lean muscle.  
“I thought you were smaller.” Then, they were escaping down a hallway out of the catacombs of a grey, depressed building, and Bucky felt more complete than he had since he joined the war.  
.  
.  
.  
The only thing Bucky remembers from the fall was Steve’s face. He was distraught, sad, and Bucky could basically feel the gut-wrenching pain just from looking at him. Well, Bucky really remembers two things. Steve, or course, and the burning, searing heat that went up his arm and his back. He remembers his face being wet, but with blood, ice, or tears he didn’t know. Bucky could only think of one thing while a burly man wearing black drug him through the bowels of the Alps: Steve better be alright.  
.  
.  
.  
Seeing him in Wakanda was strange. It had been a while, but Steve had called every week to check on Bucky’s progress, so it hadn’t been like they were out of contact. It had just been that they were out of contact. Bucky savored his one-armed hug like a dying man, apparently not having gotten over his 70-year long crush on Steve. Not that it was a crush. Bucky didn’t have “crushes”. But that was beside the point. Bucky and Steve inevitably separated and Bucky had to go and fight again. God, he was tired of fighting. He was tired of death. He was tired of enemies that needed to be taken care of. He justed wanted to stay on his farm, where the worst thing that happened was little kids coming to watch him feed his goats while they sat in a tree. There were no alien monsters threatening earth’s population. There were no armies of monsters coming towards the Wakandan troops. None of that. Just Bucky, and his beloved goats, chilling on a blank pasture. Whatever. Do what you gotta do, Bucky guessed, as he shot down enemy after enemy, but they seemed to keep coming. Shame. He was having a good day, too. Then, for some reason, he was turning to Steve, because everything felt eerily calm. And then his eyes felt watery, and his entire body just felt… it felt like pieces were falling away. And then he saw Steve, who was asking Thor something, and went to voice his confusion.  
“Steve?”but Bucky didn’t see Steve turn, he couldn’t see the distraught, sad, gut-wrenching look this time. Because everything was dark. And then there was a man in a cape and Bucky thought he died and went to… not heaven ‘cause Jesus didn’t wear a cape. Bucky followed the man through an orange circle and there were people. Christ, lots of people and they were all fighting the purple alien man from before. Guess he came back. That was strange, but Bucky fought and fought hard, hoping for this one to be his last.  
.  
.  
.  
Bucky knew Steve was going to leave at some point. It was always Bucky who left throughout their tragic relationship; Bucky who was drafted, Bucky who fell, Bucky who died but came back five years later. Bucky knew Steve would get fed up, he would get tired, he would be done with Bucky and everything they built. Bucky knew that one day Steve wouldn’t want him anymore, Steve would realize that there was better in the world, Steve would stop loving him. Bucky knew that he wasn’t really worth what Steve did for him, that he wasn’t really worth the fighting and the pain and the sleepless night and the endless therapy. Bucky knew. He didn’t really want to believe, because Steve always told him it wasn’t true, always told him they were in it for forever. Then, Bruce, the bulky scientist who was kind and sweet but seemed to know what it was like to have demons, told Steve he needed someone to take the stones back. Of course Steve volunteered, of course Steve wanted to do what’s right. Of course Steve would go back, set things straight, be the beacon of light the rest of the Avengers needed. Bucky knew that time was always a strange concept for the two of them. They were men out of time; taken from their rightful places and thrown into the fray of the future. Steve woke up 70 years from what he knew last, and Bucky spent the same 70 years as a mindless assassin who hurt people because HYDRA told him to. They were men out of time. It was common knowledge. Bucky understood that as soon as Steve stepped on that platform, as soon as he gripped that weird, magical hammer thing, as soon as Steve gave him that look, the one that says, ‘this is what i need, Buck’, he wasn’t coming back. Steve was going back to his time. His right time, where he belonged. A time that did not include Bucky. At least not the Bucky that was here, that was now, that was hurting and lost and afraid. And then Steve was gone, really gone, and the cruel twist of fate finally won out, Steve and Bucky weren’t ever going to be the same again.  
.  
.  
.  
Bucky sat in the grass, and he looked at the stars. He always felt whole at nighttime. He was at peace with the sky, the moon would shine, it was quiet, no one tended to bother him. Bucky sat and he pondered and he wondered what he could have done differently. Ultimately, it did not matter. Steve made his decision. He had a chance to take back what he lost, he would have been foolish if he didn’t. Bucky took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled at the thought of Steve being happy. Having a nice car, a pretty wife, cute kids. They lived in a small, suburban neighborhood, maybe with a dog. Steve would have been happy. Bucky smiled. He decided to ignore the tears collecting in his eyes.  
His Stevie finally got what he deserved.

Even though he had done it without Bucky.


End file.
